Protecting the protector
by rotorhead
Summary: Prowl, the unflappable Second in Command finds himself both as a victim to a insidious crime and being protected by the two mechs that are the leading suspects. Prowl and Twins.
1. Chapter 1

Protecting the Protector.

Chapter 1

* * *

The rec. room pulsed from the sheer force of the beat resonating from the speakers. Each hit of the bass sending a small cascade of dust from the corners of the crashed ships darkened passageways. The beat offset by the occasional counter thump as one of room's occupants fell or tried to dance, resonated through the ships hull. Sunstreaker huffed as the decibels increased exponentially with each step closer to the pandemonium filled area.

It was 3 in the Primus fragging morning.

The golden warrior had just returned from a double patrol, having covered Hounds so the annoyingly likeable mech could attend. The green mech probably being the only bot he would cover for, including his asinine brother. Mostly because he knew the Jeep would return the favor, no interest or threats required and he'd be happy about it.

Fragging pit spawned friendly, good slagging natured nut job.

He refused to like him, but it was difficult as times. The feeling of grime under his plates from having to run the scouts off road route instead of driving would provide him with ample amount of hate and loathing for the mech in the near future.

The cacophony paused momentarily then resumed with a bass hit that knocked leaves from his golden chassis. Were Blaster and Jazz playing music or conducting sonic warfare? Prowl typically pulled the plug on these things around 2, the mech not wanting the lingering effect of the high grade and lack of recharge to cloud those who had a shift in the morning and let those that didn't attend get some respite from the un holy noise Jazz and Blaster blared loud enough to topple any stalactites remaining in the area.

Stopping at the door to the shared wash racks the volatile twin growled at the vibrations he felt rising up through his feet. He just wanted to be clean, then get energon and some recharge, in that order. The audio destroying music would undoubtedly put a damper on the latter two. Mechs falling over each other in an overcharged stupor was never his preferred environment. Let alone with this motley crew. Tracks liked to play grab aft the more intoxicated he got until somebot took the hint and escorted him to their room. Trailbreaker loved everyone after 3 cubes, hugging any who ventured near during his proclamations of affection and Jazz liked to start slag. Whether it's drunken karaoke or pin the blame on the lambo's. Then there was the minibots, o' Primus below, the minibots.

He shuttered in remembered horror.

Palming open the door, the harsh overhead lights flared to life, revealing a huddled figure in the far corner. Stepping in, the door swished shut behind him, instantly dampening the thrum of music, but not lessening the vibrations of it, the grates under foot shivering from the continued assault. The frontliner made his way to his preferred rack and toggled the solvent on.

Mechs crawling in here to purge after a night of binge drinking wasn't uncommon. Some even ended up sleeping in here if one of their friends didn't come to drag them to their room.

He didn't care. Refused to care and didn't bother to ever register the mechs presence.

Clean, food, sleep, that's all he could muster himself to care about.

Not some drunk aft on the floor.

The warm solvent coursed over him, seeping into his armor gaps and washing away several hundred miles of road grime and several loops of on foot swamp navigation. Pulling his cleaner and a soft bristled brush from his subspace, Sunstreaker focused on getting the gunk out of his joints, and then swapped to a rag to clean his plating.

The gag and hacking of a system desperately trying to rid itself of energon over took the sound of solvent hitting his chassis. Growling at having his shower time disturbed, the yellow lambo turned just enough to the bowed mech to let a broad sweep of his field and optic glare proclaim his displeasure at the interruption.

The sounds came again, the dry hacking and little whine coupled with cooling fans franticly trying to lower the mechs temperature. An answering field sweep pinged a weak apology along with the unmistakable identifier of the field's owner.

"Prowl?"

"mmmHhhm."

The mech turned to look at him and sure enough a red chevron graced the forehead as lens cleaner pooled in the optics from the force behind the dry heaves. Doorwings laid flat against his back as the black and white heaved repeatedly. The tactician's whole body rose and fell with each effort. One arm wrapped around his middle just under his pronounced bumper, the other bracing against the vibrating grates. He sat awkwardly on his knees, pitched forward and every minuet shift caused the anti-slip grates to scratch into the contacting metal. The second in commands legs baring the testimony that he'd been at this for a while, the multitude of gouges and scrapes crisscrossed the appendages in a nonsensical pattern, some deep enough to ooze energon.

He didn't want to care.

Prowl was a big mech that could handle himself, and did, along with most of everything else concerning the Autobots and the war.

Sunstreaker knew he was glaring at the mech. He wasn't even clean yet, cleaner then before but there was still goo and leaves jammed into places he didn't want them. With a resigned huff he knelt next to his commander, making sure to not let his knee contact the floor.

"Need an assist?"

Ragged venting washed over him as Prowl shook his head, declining his offer.

Well he offered. Not that it mattered or anything.

Shrugging the whole thing off, he returned to his wash. Not stopping as the gagging returned and harsh venting echoed in the empty space. Finally clean to his level of expectations the golden mech turned the shower off. Stealing a glance at the relatively unchanged Datsun and noticing the face plates pinched in discomfort.

This wasn't his area.

He had asked if the mech wanted help and was declined, Sideswipe was the outgoing gregarious type who handled these situations. But his aft hat of a brother was thoroughly overcharged and kept sending warm pings through their bond, sometimes in time with the beat reverberating through the Ark.

Prowl shivered and let himself lean to the side, hitting the shower wall with a muted clank and sliding down so he lay pressed against it, one servo moving up to cushion his helm against the bite of the grates. Sunstreaker ran his freshly cleaned servo over his faceplates in surrender.

He wasn't helpful by nature, but he wasn't spark-less either.

"Come on Prowl, let's get you to the medbay."

He set his hand on the mechs shoulder, noting the black and white's temperature was higher then it should be.

"I… I'm fine Sunstreaker, bad cube is all, and it's almost out of my system."

There was no slurring of words, they were horse but then the mech had just spent the last few hours purging and now that he was contacting the mech, he couldn't feel the tell tail buzz in his EM field to indicate that he'd been overcharged.

So the mech really was just sick.

Primus really didn't want him to get any recharge. It was like the planets were aligning and if anybot bothered to read their upcoming horoscope it would say; beware of the golden god, for he is grumpy and will smite for minimal offence.

Or some slag like that.

"I'm still dragging your aft to medbay and if you purge on me, I will have to terminate you."

He crouched low, intending to get the troubled mech to his feet but Prowl flinched and leaned away from his touch.

"I haven't been able to curb the purging and I'd rather not die like that."

The mech was deadpan, if it was a joke, which he rather doubted, it was the first one he'd heard coming from the ill mech. Prowl could be completely serious, probably was, and, well, he was the not-friendly yellow twin. The 2IC knew excruciatingly well how serious he was when it came to being clean. The mech having to hand out the punishments for each time someone else forgot and subsequently needed to have their energon hosed off the walls.

"Could call in the medics, it is what they're for."

A wearied blue optic onlined and looked up at him. They were dimmer then they should be and Sunstreaker grunted as Prowl moved, scraping most of his side against the vicious grates.

"I tried, Sunstreaker, I have 4 requests for a medic pending. I have not received a response yet."

He loomed over the Datsun, it was one of his several skills that never seemed to phase Prowl, but he like to do it, and so he did. It was an art really; it required practice and skill to be able to go from casually disinterested to incensed looming all while looking your best and truly not giving a damn about why you were looming in the first place. It made mechs leave him alone and unlike Cliffjumper, Brawn and Ironhide who were the only ones that came close to him in respect of the art of looming, he really would slag you.

Prowl didn't huddle or cower away from his show of aggression and idly Sunstreaker wondered if the mech's muted emotions let him feel fear. Comprehend and evaluate the situation for percent of likelihood of imminent slagging, sure, but did the mech get the strut tingles when the slag hit the fan?

A bout of dry heaves worked their way out of the compromised commander. The squeal of his side being torn to shreds on the grates as he rocked with the force of his bodies convulsions brought the golden warriors hands to the mech. Lifting the surprisingly light Prowl and holding him against his pristine chassis until the heaves stopped and the mech slumped in his arms.

"You don't have to do this, Sunstreaker."

"I Know."

Repositioning the black and white so the mech was facing him, the frontliner stood and let the mech cling to him as his optics cycled and door wings gave little pathetic twitches. He pulled a clean rag from his sub space and toggled the nearest shower on. Standing under the heated spray he washed the gross fluid from Prowls hands and face, the regurgitated energon staining the rag teal instead of the normal blue of processed or pink of fresh energon.

Bad cube indeed.

He kept a supporting hand wrapped around Prowl as the mechs knees wobbled and threatened to give out. Satisfied, Sunstreaker turned the shower off and ran a dry rag down the side of Prowls impassive face plates, quickly brushing off any lingering solvent from the tactician's helm.

He rearranged his hold on the officer, putting Prowls arm around his shoulder and wrapping his around the black and white's waist. They slowly worked their way to the door as Prowl kept ghosting his back with a doorwing that twitched and fluttered with each step. The contact not enough to scratch his freshly cleaned self, so Sunstreaker let it slide.

The door slid open and Prowl recoiled from the sonic attack. Doorwings flailing, the mechs field flared out in distress as Prowl's knee joints buckled. The yellow warrior swiftly pinned his commander to the door frame to prevent the mech from falling as the black and white adjusted his audios and dampened vibration sensors to handle the sounds.

"Let me know when to drop you, if you're going to purge."

The red chevron bobbed as the arm around his shoulders regained its hold.

"Let's go."

Slowly they retreated from the wash racks and made their way to the MedBay. The noise blaring through the speakers following them and even across the ship to where the bays were located, the crescendo's were still audible. The orange sound proof doors opened in blessed silence to reveal a darkened space. Muted light eked out from the curtained office but didn't do much to the vast space beyond the door. Waving his hand in an attempt to trigger the motion activated lighting the pair stepped in. Silence slapping them abruptly as the doors closed. The vibrations could still be felt but the assault on the audios ceased. Waving his hand again and still not activating the lights, Sunstreaker activated his infrared and growled lowly as he glared at the dimly lit office.

Forms moved against each other, the heat radiating off them making it hard to distinguish between the individual mechs. His audios picking up the heavy venting and harsh whispers now that they had recovered enough to pick up sounds at lower decibels. Prowl tensed and lurched away from him as his systems started to convulse with his gagging.

"Drop me."

Sunstreaker let the mech fall, Prowl clattering to the deck plates in an undignified heap. Liquid gushed out from between lips to splatter onto the floor only to dim out to nothing as it lost its heat signature and no longer registered with infrared. In the darkness, the golden warrior stood guard over the purging mech. Glaring at the huddled mess of his commander then at the office and the mechs inside. First Aide was the duty medic and Sunstreaker could make out the mechs field as it surged in overload.

Growling as Hotspot and Grooves fields surged immediately after.

Prowl vented wildly as his body arched to purge again. Sunstreaker clenched his hands into tight fists as he accessed the command communication grid. Noting that Ironhide, Ratchet, Wheeljack and several other science bots had "Do not disturb" next to their com frequencies, the frontliner recalled the heckling earlier about a poker game Ironhide was sure he was going to win at.

Sunstreaker ex-vented heavily and forced his fists to relax one finger at a time as he logged out. Nothing short of a Decepticon attack would brake up that poker game and calling up Optimus at 3:27 in the morning was never a good idea. Jazz would be overcharged and Red Alert was just… no.

Fluid stopped leaving the officers lips and the mech started to dry heave.

He wasn't responsible enough for this.

He couldn't keep Sideswipes pet rock alive for crying out loud.

But as Prowl slumped to the side, he didn't think he had much of a choice at the moment.

Sunstreaker strode over to a supply closet and deftly hacked the lock. The lights coming on to momentarily blind him until he dropped infrared. The supply room was the same from the last time Sideswipe had shanghaied him into helping him raid it. Shelves lined the walls, each broken into bins set at measured intervals that were labeled with their contents. The good stuff, the heavy duty pain killers and neural buffers were locked up in Ratchet's office but the regular stuff was here. After scanning the shelves he found the stash of tank calmer and another of a mild pain reducer/ sedative.

He grabbed a preparation unit and drew in half of each vial then loaded the prepared cartage into an injector. All of those times he was spent stuck in medbay after a battle gave him ample time to watch the master medic do this and learn a thing or two.

Not that he would admit to it.

He used the light from the supply closet to make his way back to Prowl and ran a finger down the black and white's heaving side. Stopping at the medical port and tapping an access code that wasn't his to get the plate to slide out of the way. The officer grabbed his hand before he could administer the concoction but the force of the heaves made Prowl let go so he could balance himself above his puddle of yuck.

The store rooms light cut out, plunging them once again into darkness as Sunstreaker pressed the injector in to the fuel access valve and pressed the switch to deliver the fluids. Prowl groaned and the yellow warrior offered a clean rag to the mech. Waiting for him to clean himself up before assisting him to his feet and turning away from the dark bays.

"Where… are you… taking me?"

Words came between harsh venting and Sunstreaker palmed open the doors and braced against the rush of music.

"Somewhere to sleep it off."

The officer weakly nodded and stumbled against the study form holding him, then guiding him out to the hall. Sunstreaker huffed, the meds shouldn't have taken effect already, unless Prowl was seriously low on energon.

Which was a distinct possibility.

With an agitated huff the yellow lambo let his commander slowly sink to the floor, optics growing dimmer by the moment and returned to the medbay to grab a few cubes of medical grade from the supply closet. Shoving them into his subspace, he pulled the nearly incapacitated Prowl back to his feet and continued on.

At least the mech wasn't tensing up every few moments like he was about to purge.

The vibrations from the continuing party batted at them and Prowl stumbled again and again. The harsh venting evening out and the ice blue optics cycled to a near recharge state. Practically carrying the mech Sunstreaker stopped at the door to his shared quarters and vented harshly.

He hadn't intended to bring Prowl here, but the commander wasn't going to make it the three levels to his own quarters. Shifting the mech in his hold, the golden Autobot opened his door and dragged the near slumbering officer to the recharge room. Setting him on Sideswipes bunk, and then sitting across from him on his own.

Hauling a mostly asleep officer around was surprisingly taxing.

Flexing his arms and hearing the pop of joints working themselves loose, Sunstreaker pulled out the energon and drank one. Bland as medical grade always was, it still felt good to have something in his tank.

Prowl mumbled something and the lambo helped the mech sit up then pressed the remaining cube to his lips, pulling it away when the pink fluid started to dribble down the black and white's chin. Optics fading out, signaling the start of a recharge cycle, Sunstreaker grabbed the trash bin from the other room and positioned it on the floor near Prowls helm. Crawling into his own bunk, he felt the thrum of music being played several levels away. Sideswipe kept sending muzzy happy drunk pings across their bond and the lull of recharge claimed him.

The press of a body against him pulled him out of recharge just enough to feel the closeness of his brother and the gleefully dunk feeling that oozed through the bond. He sent a wave of displeasure in return but shifted to accommodate the red hellion that was his twin. It wasn't uncommon for the idiot to get a serious case of drunk cuddles and as long as the information that he indulged his brother in them, stayed in this room, he was ok with it. Still the fragger could have 'charged on the couch or floor, but as the warm form pressed against him he gave a soft vent as recharge swelled up the reclaim him once again.

The sharp report of fists hitting the door to his quarters roused the yellow warrior enough to hear the hollering out side.

"Wake up you devious red rat, Yer late fer your own unmaking!"

Sideswipes problem, NOT his, not even going to online optics for this.

His brother still vented rhythmically pressed to his side and sometime during the night his helm had set itself on the golden chest with an arm draped over.

Sunstreaker grunted as he tried to shift away, the two of them sharing a bed made some mechs… uneasy. Not that he cared about status quo and that sort of slag, it was just he had to pound those that made incorrect assumptions about it.

The pounding drew closer as the mech stalked down the hall beating on the wall outside their quarters. Their quarters really being two adjacent rooms that they had cut a hole in the wall to connect.

"Ah know it was you, Sideswipe!"

Ironhide was now pounding on the second outer door, the one they kept closed as it led to the room they had designated as recharge quarters. He didn't want to deal with this, his chrono told him it had only been 3.45 hours since he had started recharge and he had already been interrupted once by his twin.

He needed to 'charge frag it and Ironhide was one of the mechs that didn't like the whole snuggle brothers thing.

"You got til I count to five, ta come out, or ah'm going in an draggin yer sorry hide out."

Damn it, Sides still hadn't moved. He was going to pitch the red aft across the room.

Wait. Prowl's there.

Frag it.

OH, Slag, what if Ironhide saw Prowl?

Sunstreaker onlined his optics the same time the door slid open, the warm light from the hall washing over the twin as he took in the sight of Prowl curled against his chassis and Sideswipe rumble snoring at the tractions back, drooling on the light bar that served as his pillow. The red chevron had scratched a line into his chest and their legs were a tangle of yellow, red, black and white. There was no way this didn't look like what he thought it looked like, and Primus damn it, he knew he didn't frag Prowl last night.

Throwing his helm back, he caught the strange expression on the old mechs face as the door slid shut. Thuds of retreating foot falls slowly died out and Sunstreaker let his helm fall back to the berth with a thud.

"I will kill you, Sideswipe."

"Naw, you know you love me."

He growled at the semi-lucid response. Sides had been awake, so he had wanted the old aft to come in and see. So he had probably set Prowl on him and thought this was a fine joke. Sunstreaker growled low and menacing, the tactician shifting and gouging even more of his armor with his chevron.

He could go back to sleep or he could get up and deal with this.

Prowl whimpered as he shuddered against him and both lambos EM fields picked up on the quiver of fear in the black and whites. Sunstreaker heard Sides move, running a servo down their commanders side in a soothing gesture. Prowl whimpered again and clung tightly to him, a softly whispered 'no' coming from the sleeping officers vocalizer.

With a huff the yellow twin sat up and started to untangle himself from Prowl.

His reputation was comprised of him being a sociopath with a standing dislike of authority and minibots. And here he was in the berth with the embodiment of authority. It took a few moments to unwrap Prowl and a few more to shimmy over the mech, kneeing the red aft that would chock this up as a drunken good idea.

Sideswipe grunted as he was passed over, then shifting to get a better position on the suddenly not as crowded berth. He glared at the duo before stepping through the rough hewn doorway to the lounge part of their quarters. The motion activated lights picking up his movement and turning on. The full body mirror in the opposite wall caught his optic as an energon colored mar showed on his otherwise perfect yellow hip. Running his servo over the area he pulled his hand back when it encountered the sticky still warm energon. He wasn't injured, and Sides wasn't broadcasting pain over the bond. Turning, the frontliner peaked back in to the recharge room. Prowl was covered in cuts and scrapes from his time in the wash racks. But that didn't explain the damning puddle under his pelvic plates.

Looking closer at the tactician he noticed the servo shaped dents in his doorwings and the dents on the hips…and wrists.

He growled long and low. The thought of recharge fully cleared from his processors as the tactician shuttered again in his recharge, softly whispering 'no' yet again.


	2. Chapter 2

Protecting the Protector

Beta'ed By the fantastic Wolvesfire77 (Thank you kindly)

Thank you for all the wonderful reveiws and faves.

Chapter 2

* * *

Prowl shifted in his recharge, pulling his arm up to use it as a helm rest and whining softly as flickers of something unpleasant clouded his data stream. He lay slightly curled on his side, a weight pressed comfortingly against his back just low enough to not bother his door wings. The fear flickering in his EM field faded as soft strokes caressed over his transformations seams in a calming manner coaxing him back into the depths of recharge before the slither of wrong crept back in against the haze.

He couldn't quite see what plagued him, the flurry of color always just out of reach and the tactician whimpered as a flash of pressure and the woefully claustrophobic sensation of being trapped reached out of the nebulous haze to grip him. His door wings quivered before the sensation fled as the soft, soothing pressure on his side and transformation seams returned.

The warmth pressing against his back disappeared abruptly and a loud crash prompted Prowl's self preservation subroutines to terminate recharge. The emergency start up set his optics into a delayed boot as his sensory panels flared out ever so slightly to gather information on what was going on as evasive and counter maneuvers loaded and his weapons pinged a ready status. Within milli-klicks data poured in, his sensory feeds taking in massive amounts all at once and letting his cold booted processor sort out the relevant information. The room specs differed from his quarters and a field sweep identified two other occupants in close proximity. Energy signatures on record and no apparent weapons, with a small twitch of his left door-wing the tactician set his counter maneuver program to a lower standby position.

"Prowl?"

He let his optics power on and focus in the dim room as he shifted to look at the mech his sensors had identified and tracked diligently for any swift movements. The light from the other room back lighting Sunstreaker in a glowing golden aura as he leaned on the rough cut door way that joined the two rooms. The Lamborghini glaring daggers at what his triangulation placed as the floor between the two stranded issued bunks. A high pitched whine and a metallic clang came from that area swiftly followed by a soft whimper. The black and white's door wings twitched again as they tracked the heat signature and motion of Sideswipe laying on the floor. The fuzz of the mechs EM field rising up to dance across his own in an overcharged apology. The next sharp clang as the intoxicated front liner attempted to lift his helm and met the berth's skirting came as no surprise, nor was the slurred cursing that followed.

As his systems lowered themselves from their emergency online readiness, system wide errors clamored across his status feeds. Fuel reserve levels approached critical lows and his on board repair notified him of several dented and torn areas on his mech form. With his internal chronometer incessantly notifying him that he had only been in recharge for 3.50 terrestrial hours and it was the general consensus of the rest of him that it was nowhere near long enough. The familiar tug of light medical sedation code clouded his processes and if it wasn't for the overbearing warning of a corrupted memory file and the coinciding security warnings flashing insistently on his display he would have already fallen back into recharge like the med-virus wanted.

With an undignified groan the black and white shifted and winced as the action pulled on a dozen minor scrapes. The time stamps for the erroneous track showed the ten earth hours prior to his recharge cycle was damaged. Internal alerts flared as his self diagnostic initiated and poured over his systems to inventory all mission sensitive and classified data as the internal defragmenter brought his battle computer and tactical centers online to assist in sorting out the jumbled mess that was all that remained of last night to find the cause of the memory loss.

Bracing himself, the replay initiated to a blast of colors and sensations. The pixilated replay lurched and jumped through its error wrought track with the surplus of data bogging his analytical processes down. Drowning out external awareness and narrowing his considerable focus down to just the replay. His hands silently scratching the berth under him as he folded into himself, laying curled on his side, door wings flicking violently against the ghost of flawed data.

The feeling of being restrained, of the taste of colors and a weight pressing into his door wings as he watched music float in the air with hands roaming across his chassis as the world tilted and spun and smells listened and error... error... _**PAIN**_...Prowl might have screamed, or the world screamed at him in his own voice. Then everything fell apart as the colors mashed together, twirling, spinning and folding into itself to emerge a diffrent violent shade. The wild undulations corrupting his gyroscopes input as his optical feed spiraled hopelessly out of control and he started to gag on what was left of his energon.

"Give me the bucket Sides!"

A small startled cry made it out of him as the fluid burned his already sore intake tubes. Someone grabbed him, turned him over and pressed his face into a waste bin just as the fluid pumped out from between his lips.

Sunstreaker, he remembered Sunstreaker. His fans cycled on high to cool his battle computer as it attempted to glean any sort of useful data from the damaged memory and his tactical center tried to make sense of smelling colors. Both failing and not accepting that outcome, restarted the memory to try again.

He whimpered and shook as he felt the music become more than just background noise as a blurry form scrapped against his own. The bass drops made the ship resonate and his sensory equipment picked up on it and soon everything was filled with ripples of neon colors as his codpiece was forced open.

"Prowl? Prowl?"

Everything was too hot then to cold and his wing sensors hurt from the strain of so much data as it tried to absorb everything at once. The colors, the sounds, the turbofoxes skittereing on the ceiling and the little puffs of technicolor smoke that lit up monumentally dazzling his optics as a dark form moved in the background.

Then came the pain, a sudden stabbing from his lower middle that chased the foxes away with its cries. He lashed out, striking blindly at what was hurting him and felt his wrists be pinned under the massive weight of the Ark. Forever holding him like the bones of the dinosaurs Wheeljack had found. He screamed when the pain from the repeated stabbing became too much and again when he was certain he would never be dug up from his prison under the mountain that held his hands prisoner.

A single sharp crack across his face reinitiated the self preservation subroutines, canceling the playback to free up his tactical center and letting his focus venture outward to evaluate the threat. Optics flickering at the sudden reroute, the blinding yellow form of Sunstreaker standing in front of him holding his shoulders as his deep blue optics searched his face was the first thing that registered.

"Prowl, respond."

"To the brig, for insubordination and attacking a superior officer."

A snigger came from the red Lamborghini sitting on the floor holding his helm with both hands watching him intently.

"You were _looping_."

Sunstreaker growled every syllable and he couldn't hide his shudder as the vibrations washed over his glitching sensor net. Crossing his arms over his chest the yellow warrior leaned back against the bunk. His intense glare never wavered and Prowl flicked his wings at the looming Lamborghini as he manually terminated his battle computers processes.

With a harsh vent of his own he forced himself to look Sunstreaker in the optics.

"Thank you."

Sideswipe shifted so his foot tapped Prowl's and lifted his head from the safety of his hands.

"He bitch slapped you …. and you thank him."

The red lambo jerked awkwardly as his overly bright optics danced with amusement, a coarse laugh working its way out of the front liner as he threw his head back against the opposite bunk.

"Primus, I'm drunk."

With a huff Sunstreaker slapped his brother across the back of the helm causing him to emit a high pitched whine as he took his helm into his hands once again.

His wings twitched with every motion, energy flare, and even anticipating the assorted noises of the twins they still caused him to flinch and jerk. His optics fell as his hands he found the edge of the bunk and squeezed. He didn't know what was happening then, but now he knew what had happened. Twice he had been dragged back through the mess of colors and sensations and the first conclusion his battle computer had reached was that he had been violated. The ache in his pelvic structure and the sticky mess he was pointedly ignoring painted a very clear picture of what the pain had been, but there was no why.

Or who.

There were just sharp colors and pixels in places there shouldn't be. No face, no form, not even a voice to haunt him. He checked and double checked his data tracks and information banks, no errors or illicit entry came up. His data transfer ports had never been activated and the log stated that his classified files hadn't been accessed since his last meeting with Optimus yesterday.

Whoever did this hadn't hacked him.

"Prowl stop, you'll make yourself loop again."

Sideswipe reached out and touched the glass on Prowl's ankle. The Datsun pulled his foot away.

"No, I have it under control."

Sunstreaker snorted and a sneer worked its way across the handsome face before Prowl looked away and the Front liner huffed. Silently the tactician kicked himself; he never backed down from them. He faced Sunstreaker's poorly contained violence and Sideswipe's brilliantly illogical pranks without wavering. He couldn't give in and show weakness, not to them, not to anyone really. He was the tactician, the one who made the hard choices, he who selected what battalions to send where and what for.

Prowl drew a harsh intake of air and covered his face with his hand.

He needed to maintain the respect of those he sent out. If they doubted him, if they thought for a micro-kilk that he didn't have the best interests of all Autobots in the fore front of his helm when he sent them out against the odds then his worth as a tactician was less then scrap.

But he couldn't shake the feeling of being held down, of the violent swirl of colors and feelings that threatened to swamp out his processor or of the ache in his interface array and the tight knot of apprehension from not know who or why or anything really.

The shudder worked its way through him as he pointedly didn't look at either of the Lamborghini's. He picked a spot between the two and focused intently on that as he sorted himself out. Prowl could make out the glint of red from Sideswipe's elbow and the polished glow of Sunstreaker's knee. His venting came in harsh gusts and he flinched away when something brushed his hand still clenched to the side of the berth.

"Here."

Sideswipe set the half full cube of mid grade next to his hand and let his EM field mingle with Prowl's for just a moment as he projected a feeling of worried/comfort/drunk. At the sight of the fuel his tank churned and his low energy warning flashed.

Dropping the hand that had been hiding his face the Datsun picked up the cube and took a small sip. The fresh fluid stinging his intake lines making him cough.

"You should see Ratchet."

Sunstreaker still stood there, glaring, and all Prowl could do was nod, still refusing to look the twins in the optics. The black and white drank half the cube and set it aside, his tank still lurched any time his thought process drifted to last night.

What had happened? The last non-corrupted memory was of Jazz giving him a cube of energon like the mech always did when he worked late and trying to get him to put in an appearance to the party that wasn't to shut it down. Again, it was the same as all the other times he'd declined the invite in favor of reviewing battle strategies. Did he go? Things started to get fuzzy before he could decline Jazz.

Did he go?

It wouldn't have been the first time the Head of Special ops had talked him into doing something he normally wouldn't. But he didn't feel overcharged, there was no fuzz in his system like Sideswipe was projecting.

Did he interface the twins? He was in their quarters on Sunstreaker's berth and they weren't known for their gentleness.

He didn't think so. There was a flash or two of Sunstreaker in the wash racks floating in the mess of last night. It didn't feel right, but right now nothing felt right.

But he had interfaced and it had been rough and... he pulled what data he could from the two ventures into the corrupted memory file. He had never left the ship so it had to have been an Autobot, someone he would let near the classified data in his banks.

Someone he trusted.

He silenced his vocalizer before the whine could escape. He felt... betrayed and hurt beyond the physical damage on his form and a trickle of errors crossed his display as his battle computer failed to equate the emotions into algorithms it could compute.

Blindly he reached out for some sort of normalcy, accessing the command communication frequency like he did every morning and checking his reports.

His three requests for medics still sat open in the command queue but a dozen comm. messages littered his inbox. Ratchet, Red Alert, and Ironhide made up the bulk but with a singular high priority message from Optimus.

Opening that one first, he mentally cringed.

/:Report status: Immediately.:/

Whatever had happened last night he would handle it and handling it did not equate to hiding out, ignoring his duties.

/: Status: Operational.:/

Prowl stood up against the flair of pain and turned away from the duo, taking in the mess at the back of the recharge room topped off with an inflatable human female and several other minor contraband items. The room was standard, just having two of everything. Bunks, storage lockers, the desks had been broken and thrown out, yet another infraction, the walls painted with a landscape of a sunset over mauve mountains with a skyline that transitioned onto the ceiling.

It was pleasant and very much the twins space.

Flicking his door wings in dismissal Prowl stepped toward the door way.

"Wait, here."

Sunstreaker stepped in front of him, blocking his way out and offered a small tin of healing nanaites and a rag.

"You're leaking."

Taking the proffered cloth he nodded.

"Thank you."

He could feel a bead of energon escape his interface panel and travel down his thigh. The moment of close proximity had let him feel the raging maelstrom of anger and rage in the mech's EM field. The sheer force of the anger made him pause and glance at the face plates contorted into a sneer.

Sunstreaker stalked out of the room with a distinct predatory grace that triggered an assortment of warnings as Sideswipe clutched his helm and whined before finding his feet and wobbling after his brother. Moments later he heard the couch in the other room protest as the red one flopped down onto it. His sensors still tracked the pair as Sunstreaker took up pacing across the other room, stopping just short of being able to see into the recharge room. Giving him a measure of privacy but still blocking his way out. His spark throbbed at the notion of being trapped, the feeling of being stuck forever in the bowels of the mountain still fresh in his process.

His wings were quivering, trembling as the tide of unease worked its way through him. The tactician cycled his optics and swept his wings in a wide arch. He was not trapped; there was a door to the outside in his line of view right there. He pulled up the schematics of the Ark, swiftly calculating the 10 best routes out of the ship depending on where he wanted to end up amongst thousands of other variables.

The hum of his battle computer brought him a measure of comfort and familiarity, feelings that countered those of being trapped.

Countered, but not eliminated.

With a shaky ex-vent Prowl looked down at the canister and rag in his hands then to the berth. The energon had congealed to a sticky mess with a few droplets of fresh fluid residing where he had sat after he had purged. There was no hiding it, and the two terrors knew.

His grip of the canister tightened and the week metal groaned in protest.

Did they know who did it, or why?

Would they tell everyone?

A resounding series of thuds echoed in the small space and the vibrations made his sensor net throb in unhappy pulses. The twins responding with a pained groan from Sideswipe and a virulent curse from Sunstreaker to tell whoever it was to go away.

The door to the other room opened and Ironhide stormed in, Prowl's door wings following the action as Brawn came in right behind the older mech and Trailbreaker brought up the rear. All had weapons drawn and locked onto the Lamborghini's.

A quick double check of the duty roster and full sensor sweep showed the emergency response team members in a takedown formation. Sunstreaker's deep growl permeated through the quarters and Ironhide's command to get onto his knees made him step towards the open doorway.

This wasn't right. Ironhide shouldn't be doing this, whatever they had done, the twins shouldn't be dragged out of their quarters at cannon point.

The door to the sleeping quarters pinged green, stopping him as they swished open to reveal the Chief Medical Officer who cast a baleful optic to the energon on the berth and the tin still under pressure in his hand.

"Come on Prowl."

The tone was neutral and calm. A stark contrast to the other room as it exploded in action as Sunstreaker attempted to take out Ironhide. He flinched at the crack of metal and the discharge of a weapon as he struggled to keep up with the play by play as the yellow Lamborghini fought against the three mechs.

"What's going on Ratchet?"

Ratchet was at his side, pulling the rag from his grip and running it quickly down his thigh before tossing it over the pool of energon.

"We're getting you out of here, Optimus ordered the halls cleared so no one will see this."

He shuddered, the _'this'_ Ratchet spoke of was more saying _'you'._ But this was over the top to save a colleague the walk of shame back to his quarters the morning after. There was also the inference about the twins; no one would see Ironhide take down two Autobots that hadn't had proper due process of the Autobot code.

The Ark shuddered as the three mechs overwhelmed Sunstreaker, forcing him to the ground.

Ratchet touched his wrist and Prowl flinched, pulling away from the medic.

This was wrong, all wrong.

"What did they do?"

The medic's face contorted into a grimace as his tone stayed the eerie calm of before as he backed away, clearing a path to the door flanked by the two berths.

"They raped you and set up several others to have it happen to them, we have enough evidence already and Optimus is setting up for a tribunal."

Emotions flickered and flashed through him until his battle computer engaged to perform a thorough analysis of what Ratchet had said. He didn't remember enough to say who had done it, but he was in their berth room, he had been violated. Not just him, but others.

Sideswipe had shown he could orchestrate some very convoluted pranks that took months to set up and Sunstreaker... He remembered Sunstreaker. The yellow twin the only thing that came in clear from the entire corrupted file and he was never gentle.

It made logical sense. They hated him and what better way to get back at him for all the punishment details he'd had them assigned to then to shame and humiliate him.

Shouting came from the other room, Sideswipes voice ringing as it cursed the mechs, their carriers and the city's that they hailed from that made his door wings tremble.

"Leave them to handle the twins Prowl, please come with me."

With the way unblocked and the rising timbre of the twins vehement cursing, Prowl stepped forward into the light of the hall and stood next to his fellow officer.

It still felt wrong, that he was missing something important, but Prowl clung to the logical conclusion like a lifeline as Ratchet led him away from the twins quarters and the chaos inside.


End file.
